


Hurts

by fangirl2013



Category: The Sunne in Splendour - Sharon Kay Penman, The White Queen (TV)
Genre: AU, Angst, Character Death, Other, Violence, alternative universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 04:08:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4904917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fangirl2013/pseuds/fangirl2013
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Losing had never been an option. Would he, the young king who had never lost before, finally lose? Looking in his victor's eyes, he knew he had....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurts

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SketchLockwood](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SketchLockwood/gifts).



> I hope this is okay.

He shivered slightly, his teeth chattering slightly as he did. His bloody torn clothing gave him no warmth and his position on the floor helped him little. His knees had begun to ache from kneeling and every so often, he winced quietly. He couldn't help himself. The pain had started to intensify steadily. By the time Margaret of Anjou entered his small cell, he wished he could change position. The shackles around his wrists prevented him, however, and so he kept kneeling on the ground. The sight of Margaret's thin, wrinkled face proved no comfort to him. After all, malevolence was deep in her eyes and she seemed to be scowling at him. Her footsteps were noisy on the ground as she approached him and he couldn't help but feel angry. 

"Comfortable, Édouard?" The question fell from her lips easily, though, her eyes seemed to glint. A mocking smile was also on her thin lips. She looked even more malicious than ever. It made him want to shiver once more. Though her hands were clean, he could picture just how bloody her hands would be. After all, how involved had the shewolf been in the battle? He could picture her deep in parchment, making up strategies surrounded by armor clad men. 

He wanted to shout at her, for her to know just how much he hated her. His hatred for her seemed almost consuming in that moment and every thought in his head, included her.

Thoughts of throwing his hands around her slim neck before squeezing her life out of her tormented him. He yearned so badly to do it yet he could barely moved. He moved his hands slightly causing his shackles to clang as the metal collided. If anything, Margaret of Anjou looked even more malevolent. 

"You will die. I promise you that." He threatened her, moments later, his thoughts far too tempting. Venom laced his words and he knew his face was contorted in a snarl. 

Margaret's laugh was utterly feminine. More than Edward had ever guessed. It took him momentarily by surprise. He had never saw her as the woman she was. Whenever he thought of her, she was the shewolf, the ice queen and even occasionally, the bitch. Never anything too feminine. 

"I think not, dear Édouard. You are at my mercy." She coolly pointed out, her face transformed by the happy smile on it. 

Her words as calmly as they sounded, infuriated him even more. He could feel the cool metal of the shackles digging into his wrists and he had to keep himself from crying out in frustration. 

Margaret walked even closer to him. She was so close to him an ant couldn't come between them. Margaret walked even closer to him. She was so close to him an ant couldn't come between them. He could feel her breath skimming his face. 

"I don't want to see you dead, Édouard. No, that would be boring of you." She continued, the smile dropping from her face before being replaced with a pensive expression. 

It was Edward's turn to laugh. It was a sorrowful sound as there was absolutely no humour in it. And on his face held a deep scowl. 

"I have heard death be described in so many ways. Boring has never be one of them." Edward's words were driven out of his anger as he couldn't lay his hands on her. 

He wanted her to move away so her scent, as sickly sweet as it was, didn't fill his senses. It was making him feel sick. He let his disgust show for once. It was all he could do, after all. 

For the first time, Margaret finally lost her temper. Her nostrils flared and her fists were clenched tightly by her sides. 

"You are no king, monsieur. You never will be."

**Author's Note:**

> I'm sorry for this once again being angsty but I feel oddly relaxed today. Please enjoy or whatever. :)


End file.
